


Teach Me to Play

by mrs_squirrel_chester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Wincheste NSFW, Dean Winchester / Female Reader - Freeform, Dean Winchester One Shot, Dean Winchester Smut, F/M, Female Reader NSFW, Female Reader SMUT, Female Reader one shot, NSFW, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 15:21:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3733774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_squirrel_chester/pseuds/mrs_squirrel_chester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rare night off with the Winchesters. Dean teaches you how to throw darts, but it quickly escalates from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teach Me to Play

Sam sits down with a grunt and downs the rest of his beer. He always was a bit of a sore loser.

"I'm tellin' ya, Sammy, you're overthrowing it." It doesn't help that Dean's cockiness level rose every time he threw a dart into the center.

"Whatever, Dean." He runs a hand through his hair, failing to keep it from falling into his eyes. Or maybe he meant to hide the scowl on his brow or the embarrassment in his eyes.

You shift on the bar stool, tugging at the label that's been soaked with condensation. "It doesn't look like a hard game."

Dean joins the two of you and takes a pull from his beer. Six darts clatter heavily on the table. "You ever play?"

When you shake your head, Sam gives a snort, "seriously? You've never played darts?"

"I've just always been really good hustling at pool."

Dean gives a wiggle of his eyebrows, "believe me, I've noticed."

You mimic Sam's huffy tone, "whatever, Dean."

There has been a massive amount of flirting between you and Dean since the day you met. Nothing's been acted upon, but that doesn't mean you don't want to.

Sam clears his throat to cut the tension and pushes away from the table. "I'll get another round."

Dean picks up a dart and rubs the tip between his thumb and forefinger, an act that makes your blood run hot.

After taking a drink and licking a drop of beer from your bottom lip, you hold out your hand. "Teach me to play?"

His pupils dilate as he watches your tongue play over your lip and he all but growls in reply, "hell yes."

* * *

Dean's breath, all whiskey and beer and the promise of everything dark and dangerous, is hot on your neck as he talks about the game. He hooks his hand around your wrist, demonstrating how holding it with a certain amount of stiffness can either improve your shot or ruin it completely. It's when he swipes his thumb over your pulse point and into your palm that the warmth in the pit of your stomach begins to spread. He must have heard your breathing change because you can hear the smirk in his voice.

He drops a hand to your hip and squeezes it roughly. Even through the denim you can feel the callouses that have formed from numerous hours working on Baby, all the times he's dismantled his gun, all the graves he's dug, all the monsters he's fought. You find yourself hungry to know what it would be like to feel them dig into your much softer, more sensitive skin.

With his mouth next to your ear, close enough that you can feel the stubble on his chin scrape against the lobe, he rambles on, "- gotta make sure that you don't keep your wrist too lose. Too lose and you'll miss the target completely. Too stiff –"

"Is there really such a thing as too stiff?" You bend your elbow and while turning your head to meet his curious gaze, you throw the dart. You don't have to look to see that you sank the dart into the middle of the target.

Dean's scoff is your answer. "I… where did you-"

You turn around, keeping close proximity to the shocked hunter. "I had a great teacher." You slide your hands beneath his burgundy shirt, skimming over the black undershirt. Biting your bottom lip, you look at him through thick eyelashes. "Is there anything else you want to teach me?"

The hand that had fallen to your hip drug over your butt as you turned and now it is digging into your other hip, pulling you further into him until you feel every inch of his rock solid body. His pupils are blown and his tongue darts out hungrily over his bottom lip. Your name falls from his lips in a way you've only ever dreamt about, "are you sure?"

You sneak a hand around his neck and squeeze the back of it roughly, scraping your nails through his cropped hair. Curved into him, you push to your tiptoes, dragging every inch of you against him. You don't know how you do it, but you manage not to kiss him, not yet. "Aren't you?"

You've only ever seen Dean hesitate when it came to hurting the ones he loves, but never with a woman, until now. His eyes, playful and full of lust, search yours, as if seeking the truth that can't be spoken.

That's when you kiss him, because you could tell him you want this, that you've wanted this since his first sarcastic comment, but the fact is he won't believe anything you have to say. He's more of a show him kind of guy. And boy do you show him.

* * *

Once inside the motel room, Dean kicks the door closed since his hands are buried in your hair and fisting the thin material of your shirt at the small of your back. His kisses are fierce, powerful, and possessive and there's nothing about it you don't like. You can taste the whiskey and beer almost as if you had just taken a drink.

Shoes are kicked off and jackets are removed as the room is crossed, the rest of your clothing will have to wait because Dean backs you against a wall. He swallows your moans, answering them with his own as the very same hands you wished to feel earlier disappear under the hem of your shirt. The textural difference blazes a trail, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

You drive your hands through his hair, grabbing onto his shoulders as he picks you up, pinning you to the wall with his hips. His legs, slightly bowed at the knees, spread, giving him the support he needs. You're left gasping for air as he rips your shirt over your head, tossing it over his shoulder as he gives your black-lace clad breasts an appreciative stare. He licks his lips hungrily before placing open mouthed kisses along the column of your neck, flicking his tongue out after he nips a little too hard, making you gasp. You arch into him as his mouth moves across your collar bone and between your breasts. When his mouth is on your breast, sucking at your tight nipple, you grind your hips against his, moaning his name low in your throat.

You don't care that your most expensive bra is damp or that he pulls at it a little too rough with his teeth, you just care that this is finally happening. You grip the hem of his shirt and even though you hate for his mouth to leave your body, it's only a moment before his shirt is on the ground and his mouth is on you again, paying attention to the other breast.

Rough hands grip your ribs, pulling you closer before pushing you against the wall, sending shivers down your spine. Not sure how much more stimulus you can handle before you unravel, you fist his hair and force him to look up at you.

"Bed. Now."

He smirks wickedly and reaches behind your arched back, deftly unhooking your bra as he stands tall, pulling you with him. Your bra falls to the floor as he walks to the bed and despite the fact your legs are wrapped around his waist, he tosses you away from him. With a surprised gasp, you bounce on the squeaky mattress.

"I better not be alone for much longer." You crook a finger at him while biting your bottom lip.

"Darilin', you won't be," his voice is deep, much deeper than normal. He holds your gaze as he unhooks his jeans and slowly slides them, and his boxer briefs down toned legs. He drops to a knee between your feet and slides his hands up your legs, dragging his fingers and pushing his palms until reaching the top of your jeans. His eyes still holding yours, he drops a kiss below your belly button and pulls your skin between his teeth as his fingers set about unhooking your jeans.

First the button, then the zipper, it's almost torturous how slow he moves, all while leaving small red marks on your stomach. He hooks his fingers into the top of your jeans and matching lace panties and slides them down your legs, leaving open mouthed kisses as he goes.

You're breathless, fisting the comforter by the time your remaining clothes hit the floor. Rough hands dig into your legs as he climbs back up, his lips continuing to leave their mark on you. You're not one to turn down foreplay, but enough is enough. Every nerve is on fire, desperate to feel all he has to offer. You grab him by the back of the head and crane his neck, pulling him up until you fell the velvety hard tip of him against your inner thigh.

No words are exchanged, just moans and grunts as you lift off the bed and crush his mouth with yours. You surprise him by reaching down and grabbing his length, it's hard and soft at the same time, veiny and thick beneath your fingertips. He thrusts against you as you run the pad of your thumb over his damp tip before placing him at your center.

Hooking a leg around his waist, you slowly draw him in. He shudders as you surround him, trying to keep from driving home. With a growl, he rips his mouth away and looks down, watching himself disappear into you. His name falls from your lips in a throaty moan once you've taken all of him.

He looks up at you as he draws his hips back, not a lot, but enough to get things started. It's little by little, inch by inch, until he's about to fall out before he drives into you. A slap of skin on skin echoes in the room. You slide up on the bed and put your hands up on the headboard to keep your head from hitting it and to help provide some leverage.

Your body rises up while his drives down. Again and again, pushing moans and grunts every time you connect. He kisses you roughly, biting your bottom lip, scraping his beard against your chin before turning his attention to your breasts, doing the same to the much softer skin. You know you'll be wearing his mark for days.

The pressure is getting to be too much and you can tell by the way his hips are starting to falter and the extra twitching against your walls that he's almost at his climax, too. With one hand on the headboard, you grab him by the back of the neck and slap your hips against his, tilting them in a particular direction. He hits that certain spot and it's all you can do to keep from unraveling beneath him.

He lets out a wordless moan and wraps an arm around your waist, holding you in place as he lets instinct take over. He pounds into you, fingers digging almost painfully into your hip, but it's a good kind of pain. There's a slight buzzing in your head as he strokes against you until finally the pressure is too much. Your head falls back as you shout his name. Your name is a rough shout into the hollow of your neck as your release washes over him. He grunts before biting into your shoulder, shuddering as he cums.

He falls to the side, wrapping his arms around you, turning you with him, kissing the top of your head with a satisfied moan. It doesn't matter that you're sweat-slicked and sticking to one another or that you're breathing hard enough that neither of you can speak. All that matters is that right here, right now, you're both extremely satisfied.


End file.
